Prologue
He ran at an immortal speed. The roof tops below his feet just a grey blur. It was night and the moon hovered high above, a slight drizzle rained down on the City.
Michael whipped his long hair from his eyes as he ran. He wore a black leather trench coat and black clothes underneath that. If you met him on the streets of Helsing that night he would've been someone to avoid, even if the two feathery wings protruding from his back weren't there.
Michael was an Angel. Archangel to be exact, a warrior for the almighty and supreme Lord God. Born in the unimaginable paradise heaven he had been trained by Jesus himself in the art of Spiritual warfare. And now over two thousand years later he was one of the most respected and experienced solder Heaven had ever seen.
His bare feet pounded against the concrete but it made no matter to him for with those two big wings he more glided than sprinted across Helsing.
Rising up ahead rose the huge bell tower of the city centre church its huge stain glass window glowing faintly in the gloom. As Michael clomped towards it he saw the gigantic gap between it and the building he was on and smiled, he loved this part of his job.
Reaching the edge of the structure he leapt forward and with a single flap of his wings, swan dived through the glass window and landed with a forward roll on the wooden floor, guns drawn.
Yes, guns. Uzis if you preferred that term. Michael favoured modern weapons contrary to most angels who used the conventional sword. Michael still used his sword, but only for extreme spiritual battles.
He was in the attic. He could tell that because the room was dark, warm and filled with old books and church objects. Cobwebs strung from boxes to the rafters. He stopped a moment to admire gods' creations but was soon looking for the way down to the bottom floor. He soon discovered it, a spiralling well of creaky stairs that seemed to be more dangerous than anything else. Michael was now standing on a balcony above the main hall of the church. Peering down with fiery eyes he watched as a group of hooded men- The Crimson circle, they called themselves; walked through the pews to the front where a silver altar stood with a mortal woman chained to it. She seemed to Michael to be in some kind of trance because although her eyes were wide open she made no attempt to move.
The leader- Vime, he was called stepped up to the table with a large stone knife. His followers began to chant and moan hauntingly. Cutting her forehead Vime's muttered something too and was about to slash down through her chest when Michael decided to act.
He ascended like a golden lion and jumped from the balcony into the chaos below. Bullets exploded from his weapons as he spun at a super human speed around in a circle sending the members flying into the pews and crashing over one another. When the smoke cleared Michael remembered Vime and turned his weapons around to where he thought the man to be. He caught him trying to escape through a window and was about to fire when a huge clawed fist smashed into his jaw. Michael was sent sprawling across the cold limestone floor. He looked up and wiped a trickle of blood from his lip. Hovering to his left was the creature that the crimson circle had summoned. A foul creation of the Abyss, a demon from the pits of hell. It was horrible to look upon thought Michael. It wore no clothes as it had no need to, it was blackish purple skinned and it had a pair of slivered glowing red eyes. Two long straight horns rose from the top of its head, a whip like tail slashed back and forth behind it. It had in its hand a long curved blade that emitted a dark smoke.
Michael stood, legs solid on the ground. His guns clattered to the floor and he reached into his Jacket and drew his sword. It shone like a bright light and written on it was "The word of God" The Angel charged towards his fiend and struck with his weapon. Narrowly avoiding it the Demon fluttered higher up, near the ceiling and cackled,
'Missed me' it chuckled.
Michael flapped his wings and chased after it. Round and round the two went in a valiant crashing of blades. Sparks flew and blood was drawn by both parties. Michael's sword shot forward which the monster evaded and was briefly distracted. Michael took advantage of this and hacked off a horn. The thing cried in fury and charged straight into Michael's sword.
Pulling it out of its gut Michael spun his arms and sliced of the things head sending black blood splattering to the ground. Its body evaporated and Michael gave a sigh of relief.
It was over now, it was over.
Or was it?
Meanwhile on the other side of the city something occurred. Down an alley blood was spilt. Strangely there was no one there to spill it and no one there to have it spilled. The dark red liquid just simply appeared in the very fabric of reality itself. It lay like a puddle, dead centre in the air. There was a ripping sound and it began to spread itself into three small shapes. They where numbers: 660...